


On Celebrimbor

by Leeheon



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Friendship, Gap Filler - not really, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leeheon/pseuds/Leeheon
Summary: A few stories about Celebrimbor... that I hope no-one takes too seriously.





	On Celebrimbor

**Why he went to Gondolin**

 

 "Father!" Celebrimbor cried out, bursting into the office. "There's been an accident at the workshops!"

 Crufun stood with a curse. "Where? Why?" he snapped at his son, who was panting slightly, his apron blackened and burnt.

 "Number Five, western wing. I think Duilwen started a fire."

 Without further ado, Curufin stormed out of the room. His dark braids vanished a second after. Celebrimbor sighed, and turned to his cousin.

 "Are you all right?" he asked.

 Orodreth considered lying, but simply shook his head. Celebrimbor would not have been fooled anyways. He dragged another stack of paper closer to himself, then glanced up again to find Celebrimbor hovering near the door.

 "Aren't you taking a seat?"

 "It depends," Celebrimbor said teasingly, all trace of urgency gone from his voice.

 "On?"

 "Whether you want a pyromaniac sitting in front of your desk."

 Orodreth smiled weakly and gestured for Celebrimbor to sit. He took the chair Curufin had been using a moment before, and jumped straight to the subject.

 "I heard about Tol Sir... Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Is it true?"

 "Unfortunately," Orodreth answered.

 "I was afraid of that," Celebrimbor sagged his shoulders. "Well, I thought you might appreciate some consolation, if that were the case. And probably someone to chase off unwanted visitors."

 He must have seemed profoundly irritated at that, for Celebrimbor quickly added;

 "You're hardly the first person I know who had to act the regent while the king was captured. Hardly the first to be tongue-lashed by my father about that, too. In fact, although I don't know what he said to you, I'm reasonably certain what he said to Maglor was worse."

 "But your uncle came back."

 "Because his friend rescued him," Celebrimbor said, suddenly looking pensive.

 The expression he wore was rather familiar to Orodreth. It was one that, from the days in Valinor, he tended to associate with metal dolls that could flawlessly perform Vanyarin dances, music boxes that spewed out curse-words, and toy swords that wailed in pain whenever they hit something. In other words, meaninglessly innovative ideas.

 His dread was confirmed when Celebrimbor finally spoke again.

 "King Turgon's Finrod's closest friend, isn't he? I wonder..."

 

 

 

**How Idril's secret passage came to pass**

 

 "It's unfair!" Celebrimbor exclaimed.

 Idril watched her kind, selfless cousin heft an innocent vase across the room. And an empty glass. And a jug that wasn't quite as empty. And a book on metallurgy that would, considering the author, be priceless to any smith but him. She only intervened when he pulled out his dagger.

 "What exactly are you talking about?"

 "That Maeglin can go prospecting for ores anytime he pleases, but I can't! It makes no sense; I'm better than him at that!"

 It was no secret to Idril that Maeglin often broke Turgon's rules. What surprised her was that Celebrimbor's reaction to it, which was surprisingly... Feanorian.

 "Celebrimbor, perhaps you could sneak out? I believe that is what Maeglin does, as well."

 Celebrimbor only frowned deeper at that. "And try Ecthelion? Please. I'm not the king's nephew, cousin, and do not have a death wish."

 "I wouldn't be so sure," Idril replied, thinking back to the last council meeting where the fair lord had said _The Guards are contemplating a shoot-on-sight policy,_ while sending a pointed glare at his prince. "Besides, I was not aware that you wanted for any ores. Did you not tell me that you could not approach the forges here?"

 "Yes, which is precisely why I wish I could go out. If I mine them myself, I would not draw any attention to myself, and your father won't have to be reminded of my blood," Celebrimbor said, somewhat calming down. "It's hard to stay idle, though. Did you know, Idril, that I actually considered drilling a secret way under the city?"

 He waved at a pile of paper on the bedside table, and she smiled. Celebrimbor had done a good deal more than 'considering'; if anything, he had drawn several blueprints at least.

 "So what brings you to my humble abode?" Celebrimbor changed the subject.

 "Oh, right," Idril said. "I needed some advice on men."

 Celebrimbor coughed. "Excuse me? 'Men' as in 'male', or 'men' as in 'the Secondborn'?"

 It was clear that Celebrimbor hoped desperately for the answer to be the latter, so Idril felt rather guilty admitting that it was both.

 " _Tuor?_ " Celebrimbor coughed once more. "Advice? Romantically?"

 "I'd prefer you to not sound so incredulous," Idril retorted. "Yes, him."

 "But I don't want you to follow Luthien's fate!"

 Ah, that was sweet. And the way Celebrimbor's face morphed from shocked to thoughtful, and to understanding in the end, that was even sweeter.

 "I suppose it's something you don't ask your father," he said. "And the other male cousin would be... an ill choice. On the other hand, you ask my advice on something I've barely experienced myself. Why don't you come back tomorrow? I'll try to write down what I know."

 Idril had a suspicion that by tomorrow, Celebrimbor would have a full essay ready. Suppressing a laugh, she turned to leave, but then another thought flashed through her mind.

 "Would you mind if I took those tunnel plans with me? I'd like to see what you got."

 

 

 

**Why an instruction became a riddle**

 

 The sun had almost set over the horizon when Celebrimbor arrived at the to-be-Doors of Durin, but there was still enough light for Narvi to notice the contents of the wagon trailing after him. Metal canisters, smooth and gleaming, were arranged carefully apart and held by leather straps. Narvi waited until Celebrimbor came closer to ask the question.

 "What are those, elf?"

 "Ithildin," Celebrimbor answered.

 "They're not. Steel, I'd say."

 Celebrimbor smiled brilliantly. "The _bottles_ are made of steel. Inside them, however..."

 The tall elf picked up a bottle, screwed open the top, and held it down for the dwarf. Narvi leaned in.

 "Careful!" Celebrimbor hissed. "You don't want to burn your beard, do you?"

 "Molten Ithildin? But how?" Narvi demanded, hardly acknowledging Celebrimbor's warning.

 "The bottles keep the heat inside. Remember what I told you about vacuums?" Celebrimbor's grin widened until it bordered on maniacal. "It works on the same principle as those bottles we use for tea, except, of course, these are much more efficient."

 "You could've brought that Ithildin ink you made," Narvi grumbled.

 "Ink's for paper. So, where's this door I need to draw on?"

 Narvi pointed toward the door, the slabs left slightly ajar. Celebrimbor whipped out a piece of chalk and examined the door, running the tips of his fingers up and down the edge.

 "Excellent workmanship as usual, Master Dwarf," he said, and Narvi buzzed with pride.

 With the chalk, Celebrimbor sketched out two trees, a hammer and an anvil, a crown and seven stars, and the arch itself. Narvi observed with vague interest as Celebrimbor wrote the inscriptions; "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Say "friend" and enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs." Then, reaching sideways, Celebrimbor drew a letter on each side of the door.

 "That one's _Calma_ , for Celebrimbor," he explained. "And that's _Ore_ , for Narvi."

 And crouching, he drew another letter between the trunks of the trees.

 " _Ando_. That's for Durin. It also means 'gate' in Quenya."

 "Aha."

 "That's the eleventh letter. Means 'rage'."

 Narvi gave a dirty glare. Celebrimbor laughed.

 "These are my grandfather's letters, Narvi," he said. "My father's father. I talked about him before, didn't I?'

 

 The sun disappeared a few minutes later, revealing the half-moon shining over their heads. Celebrimbor began to carefully brush the silver metal onto the doors, while Narvi twiddled with scrap metal. When the moon, too, disappeared, Celebrimbor stretched and lay down to sleep.

  Narvi stayed awake.

 

 They spent the following day inside Hadhodrond, returning to the door only as moonlight began to pour down. Celebrimbor whispered several words to the stone and stepped backwards to see what he drew the day before, the trees and the hammer and anvil, reveal themselves.

 He let out an audible gasp when the eight-pointed star came into view.

 "Narvi! This isn't funny!"

 Narvi managed to look sheepish. Barely.

 "What in Manwe and Varda-" Celebrimbor added a few more curses, then said; "And now we won't have enough Ithildin to paint the rest!"

 Narvi thought about the matter for a moment.

 "You know, Celebrimbor, we could just ditch those quotation marks."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. 'Duilwen' is, according to the Silmarillion, "the fifth of the tributaries of Gelion in Ossiriand". I'm sure the river wouldn't mind.
> 
> 2\. I have a sudden urge to write an AU where Turgon rescues Finrod.
> 
> 3\. In my opinion, Idril's one of the best leaders of the First Age. Nothing bad happened to Sirion under her watch, right? But she doesn't really strike me as an engineering type...


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